


Deep grey, steel blue

by Loveforthestory



Category: Revolution (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:42:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveforthestory/pseuds/Loveforthestory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She is tired. And sweaty. After three hours of hunting she needs a bath. Problem is, she doesn't have a bath herself. The bathroom in the small house she lives in when she isn't on the road with her uncle or another General is too small for one. But she does know a certain delusional asshole who has one in his home. She is still tired. But when she starts walking towards his part of town, there is a smirk on her face that deepens the blue in her eyes. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deep grey, steel blue

She is tired. And sweaty. After three hours of hunting she needs a bath. Problem is, she doesn't have a bath herself. The bathroom in the small house she lives in when she isn't on the road with her uncle or another General is too small for one. But she does know a certain delusional asshole who has one in _his_ home. She is still tired. And sweaty. But when she starts walking towards his part of town, there is a smirk on her face that deepens the blue in her eyes.

* * *

When he gets home, she is busy filling a bucket with water. Her cheeks are flushed and hell, her tank clings to the curves of her tits. _Dammit,_ summer and Charlie Matheson are a fucking good combination.

Bass swallows. He shuts his kitchen door behind him. He is used to having her in his living room. On his porch. At his kitchen table. He knows that she knows that he always has whiskey in his house. Hell, she is a damn Matheson . She is here for that whiskey or to avoid all the pathetic crap from Miles who is busy playing house with Rachel. He gets it.

He still struggles and fights internally with what she did for him, broke loose inside of him. He knows she doesn't hate him the way she did. He also knows she is not ready to admit that to him, or herself. He gets that too.

'Hey..' He throws his keys on his kitchen table while his eyes connect with hers. His voice is deep.

'Hi...' Her voice is steady, like it is completely normal for her to be here in Monroe's house on a Monday afternoon.

She moves a lock of deep blonde hair out of her face while he grabs a glass and a bottle. He doesn't say a word. Charlie can see how long his day has been, just by looking at the familiar tension in his jaws when she starts walking with her last bucket of water to his tub.

He is casually leaning against the kitchen counter. His large hand is wrapped around a glass of whiskey.

Bass' eyes are following her, walking through his damn house. 'What the hell do you think you are doing?'

Having her here is not new. What _is_ new today is the predatory look in those strong blue eyes of hers when she answers him. 'I am going to use your bath, Monroe.'

'Ex..excuse me?' His voice is hoarse and deep, while he forgets about the glass of whiskey in his damn hand.

He has to watch how she soaks up every fucking moment of the confusion that is written in his eyes.

Her full lips turn into an even bigger smirk. 'You know what... help me with that last bucket and I will consider if there is room for you in there. _'_ She nods to the bath and the bucket standing beside it, behind her.

She is messing with him. It's not even a real question or possibility. Although there is a part of her, _and she is not sure which part_ , that wakes up because of the way he is looking at her. Her mind fills with things they could try.

Her words and what the hell she is suggesting send a sharp wave of deep lust through his damn chest and straight to his cock. She knows he is not going to follow her and it is pissing him off.

Before his stupid brain can think of anything to say to her, she has already turned around to walk to _his_ bathroom to use his fucking bath. There is a grin on her face and an easy swing in her hips in every step she takes through his hallway. His eyes are following her again.

He swallows when her fingers move to the hem of her tank before she pulls it over her head and her long hair flows over her shoulders, and back. His cock wakes up when her hands move to the button of her jeans.

She never turns around. She uses her left foot to _almost_ shut the bathroom door behind her. Bass curses when he sees her smooth skin and black panties when she slides her jeans down her legs, right before the damn door blocks his view.

'Fucking hell...' He growls. His blue eyes darken. He drinks. He waits. He thinks about his options. About what he could do.

_To her._

Charlie hears him curse in the living room. A wide smile plays with her lips. A deep sigh mingles with the sound of the water around her body, when she lets her body slide into the welcoming water. Not only does she have the luxury of a soothing bath on this late afternoon but she also gets to enjoy Monroe's stupid face right after telling him what she was going to do.

The moment the lazy feel of the water against her skin makes her forget who's bath she is in for just one second, he reminds her of where she is.

His boots sound heavy on the wooden floor when he walks into the small space. She looks at him. And before she can say anything, he throws a deep grey towel towards her.

The towel lands on her breasts and neck.

'You might need this.' There is a smug, cool grin on his face.

Bass looks at her. Naked. Wet. He waits. His cock is throbbing against the inside of his jeans with what she is going to do. She doesn't move. She just looks at him. Until he can see the shift in her eyes. And he knows her. He knows Charlotte. That shift means trouble.

She slowly moves her body out of the water and out of the tub. She takes her time. Walks over to him. When he is almost close enough to feel his breath, her mouth is dry. She licks her bottom lip. She ignores the tremble in her legs. The way he looks at her while she walks to him fills her with a powerful new sense of control.

She drops the towel but never stops looking at him. He watches hungrily how the water moves from her hair to her tits. He follows the drops of water when they move over her smooth belly to golden curls. Her dripping on his bathroom floor makes him forget about every fucking thing why this should not happen.

When she is close enough to touch, he yanks her close to him. His hand moves to her ass in one powerful, controlled movement. He groans and curses something at the same time when he pushes her against him. Her wet, warm , hot body lands against his chest and hard thighs. The water moistens his shirt. Her hands land on his arms. She can feel the hard muscles under his skin. He presses her impossibly close to his chest and her fingers dig hard into his skin. Bass lifts her from the floor, her body is still flowing against his chest and thighs.

He walks them both to his bed. Their eyes are locked, still fighting and struggling to find out if one of them is going to stop this. His strong thighs are pressing against her body. His chest is never ending. His cock is hard and pressing against her belly.

His knee lands between her legs when he moves her onto his bed. He pins her arms above her head with his left hand.

Charlie presses herself harder against his thigh. She looks straight at him.

She should be afraid of the steel hunger in his eyes, but her whole body welcomes the danger that is Bass Monroe towering over her.

He wraps his large hand around her wrists. Her body is trapped under his. He is hard, ready and wide between her thighs. He hasn't kissed her yet.

His cock throbs when he watches how her tits move when he adds more force to his grip around her wrists. His free hand claims the space between her legs. He can see the surrender in her eyes and it is filling him with more hunger and hard, burning satisfaction.

When he moves his fingers over the inside of her thigh and through warm wetness, she watches how he presses his tongue against his teeth. She doesn't remember if she has ever seen this kind of lust.

His free hand moves to the button of his pants. He opens it and moves his pants as far down as he can. He wraps his hand around his cock.

He waits. He looks at her. He watches how she is breathing him in. He can smell her. He needs her to look at him. Really look at him. When her eyes are focussed on him and only him, he moves his thighs towards her, pushing her legs apart. She can feel him, hard and wide and filling her inch by inch.

A deep feral moan fills the space between her heartbeats.

He never lets go of her wrists. She lets him. His tall body hovering over hers and the hard lines of his chest and thighs add even more friction to her deep need to find release trapped under his body and in the  blue of his eyes. It is the way he looks at her that lets everything else fade in a dangerous, new way.

Until she comes and a raw shot of losing control fills him. He claims her mouth with his in a deep way that makes her moan and her breath mix with his. He is barely able to pull out with her name in a raw curse right before he comes. White slow waves land on her belly.

Charlie forces herself to keep her eyes open and to look at Monroe while he comes. His hoarse, low voice that grunts _her_ name makes her core clench for more. He is sticky and warm on her belly. They are both out of breath. She is holding on to his shirt while they both just breathe and look at each other. His mouth so close to hers.

* * *

He pretends he is asleep when she slowly moves out of his bed. He fights the urge to say something, to remind her of the line they crossed last night. But the part of him that wants to give her the space he knows she needs, wins. She is a Matheson, they can never stay away too long.

He waits until he hears her closing his door behind her before he gets up. He grabs his jeans from the floor. The deep blue and worn fabric moves around his thighs. He sits on his bed. He moves a hand over his face. Her scent is close to the bare tanned skin of his chest. The memories of all the ways he made her come and the way she felt against his damn skin are even closer.

When he walks to his bathroom, the deep grey towel lays casually on the floor. A reminder of what happened. A reminder of her. It's still early as hell. But when he picks up the towel from his bathroom floor, there is an honest, real grin on his face that softens the blue steel in his eyes.

* * *

**Author's Note After a couple of very busy months, I finally have time to write! I am currently working on a new chapter for the Scent of the ocean in her hair. I want to publish it next Thuesday and finish that story this month because it is summer over here and I really love to return to the ocean ( there will be two more chapters and an epilogue). Thank you to threemagpies for her feedback! Sending a lot of love and stories to all of you, Love from Love**


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